


until we got so warm

by sarahyyy



Series: Functional Heartburn [5]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hospitals, M/M, the grey's au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2019315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He catches Courfeyrac by the arm, stopping him on the way to the clinic, and asks, “Have you seen Enjolras?”</p><p>Courfeyrac frowns. “I just figured he was with you, doing one of your <i>‘consult’</i> things you both do in the on-call room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	until we got so warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bunbunjolras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunbunjolras/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Pasha! 
> 
> I tried writing happier stuff that wasn't Grey's, but didn't make it pass 300 words. :/

“Yes,” Grantaire says, lying alone in bed in the middle of the night, staring up at the ceiling. It’s a simple word, one that he has no trouble saying a few dozen times a day, but he says it again, tries the word out, plays around with it. He says it curtly, like he’s trying his best to be quick and efficient and _professional_ about it; he says it gently, draws the word out and smiles at the end of it; he says it simply, throws the word out like he’s answering a nurse’s question to if he’s on-call, or if he’s going to lunch. 

“Yes,” he says, and closes his eyes, tries not to think about the way the word is making his heart beat faster and his palms start to sweat. “Yes,” he says again, like it’s a reminder to himself, and settles into his pillow.

He runs the word through his head, plays it in a loop.

Sleep comes easier.

—

Grantaire means to do it before he loses his nerve, means to get coffee and sit in the stairwell and wait for Enjolras to show up, but he’s only just stepped into the hospital when he gets paged 911, and he has to rush into surgery.

It’s not the worst thing to happen, though, because when he comes out of the OR four hours later, he’s thrumming with adrenaline, riding on the high of a successful surgery. He heads straight for the stairwell, takes quick steps down to the ground floor and makes his way to the ER, keeping his eye out for Enjolras on his way there. 

He feels the word just resting on the tip of his tongue now, feels his heart beating to the steady chant of _yes yes yes yes_ he has in his head, feels like he’ll combust into flames if he doesn’t get to say it to Enjolras soon.

Enjolras isn’t in the ER when he gets there.

He catches Courfeyrac by the arm, stopping him on the way to the clinic, and asks, “Have you seen Enjolras?”

Courfeyrac frowns. “I just figured he was with you, doing one of your _‘consult’_ things you both do in the on-call room.”

Grantaire flushes, because even though the thing between him and Enjolras isn’t exactly a secret, he likes to pretend that it is, just to give himself the illusion that he’s an actual professional capable of not having on-call room quickies when there are children on the floor he’s working on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, rather unconvincingly, if Courfeyrac’s grin is anything to go by. 

“Of course you don’t,” Courfeyrac says with a snort. “When are you going to learn that I know everything that’s happening in this hospital? I’m _Courfeyrac_.”

“You don’t know where Enjolras is,” Grantaire points out. 

“He was heading up to see you the last I saw him,” Courfeyrac says. “That was maybe ten minutes ago. He’s probably waiting for a ‘consult’ in your on-call room.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. 

—

Enjolras isn’t in the paediatrics department.

Grantaire even checks the on-call room.

He is usually always around, always there with his stupid hair and his stupid smile and his stupid eye-crinkle, always there when Grantaire wants to avoid him, so of course on that one occasion that Grantaire actually needs to see him for something important, Enjolras disappears on him. 

He tries not to think about it being a sign, tells himself that even if it were a divine message from God telling him to not do the dumb thing, he’s held off long enough, and he’s never been particularly good at doing the smart thing anyway. It’s not sound logic, but it’ll do for the moment. He just needs to hold onto the _yes yes yes yes_ looping in his head for long enough to find Enjolras and say it to him.

He sighs and pages Enjolras 911. 

It takes Enjolras two minutes to call him on his phone, and Grantaire frowns for a moment before picking up, because he’d expected Enjolras be running out of the elevator by now. 

“Patient status?” Enjolras says the moment Grantaire picks up, because Grantaire has never paged Enjolras for anything non-work related before.

“There is no patient,” Grantaire tells him. “This is not that kind of 911 page.” 

Enjolras sounds wary when he asks, “Then what kind of 911 page is this?”

“Where are you?” Grantaire asks instead of answering Enjolras’ question, because he wants to do this right, thinks that Enjolras would want him to do it right, thinks that Enjolras deserves his very best effort at doing it right at least. 

“I’m stuck between the second and the third in the elevator. It is estimated that I’ll be out in another hour or so,” Enjolras says. There is a short pause. “I was coming up to see you. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says. “Good, me too.”

“Listen,” Enjolras says, “about what I said yesterday… I didn’t mean to push.” Grantaire hears him take a steadying breath. “I would never push you into doing something you’re not ready to do. I’m sorry if it came off that way. There is no ultimatum.” Enjolras says. “I can wait. I _will_ wait.”

Grantaire swallows. Enjolras will be out in an hour, he can wait for Enjolras for an hour. An hour is only 60 minutes. 3600 seconds. Grantaire can do that.

“Which elevator?” he blurts out, because who is he kidding? He’s tried to keep it to himself for too long now, and he needs to say it, needs to tell Enjolras. 

Enjolras deserves it. _He_ deserves it.

“Grantaire?” 

“Which elevator?” Grantaire asks again, firmer this time.

“Elevator 2,” Enjolras says. “What-”

“Okay,” Grantaire says, and hangs up on Enjolras, already making his way down the stairs in search of Bahorel.

—

Bahorel’s look of incredulity slowly melts into a shit-eating grin. “It’s about time,” he says. “I need someone to distract Javert, and a crowbar.”

—

Grantaire has to peer down at Enjolras through the gap in the elevator door. Enjolras is looking at him like he’s not sure if Grantaire is actually there, or what’s he’s there for. 

“I really needed to talk to you,” Grantaire tells him, answering his unvoiced question. 

“You’re going to end things with me while I’m trapped in the elevator, aren’t you?” Enjolras says accusingly.

“I’m not,” Grantaire tells him. “The original plan was for Bahorel to open up big enough a gap for me to go down there too, but he’s now hiding from Javert, so this will have to do.” He takes a deep breath, calms himself down, and says, “Yes.”

It comes out softer than he means for it to, so he says it again, louder this time, with more force behind his words, says it like he means it, says it _because_ he means it. “Yes.”

Enjolras’ eyes snap up to his. “Yes?” he echoes. “To which part?”

Grantaire swallows, looks at Enjolras, looks at the hopeful glint in Enjolras’ eyes and tells himself that he has to tell Enjolras, that he can’t stop at this point. “To all of it,” he says to Enjolras. “Yes to trying, yes to wanting to try, yes to _you_.”

Enjolras’ lips part. “Grantaire-” he breathes out. 

Grantaire smiles. “Yes,” he says again. 

Enjolras’ lips slowly curl up into an answering smile. They stay like that for a long moment, Enjolras craning his head up to smile at Grantaire, Grantaire lying flat on his stomach grinning down at Enjolras. 

“So all the things that weren’t allowed before,” Enjolras starts. “Are they allowed now? Am I allowed to bring you coffee and kiss you in the hallways and ask you out to dinner?”

Grantaire’s grin grows. “Yes.”

Enjolras makes a face at that. “You are the worst,” he tells Grantaire. “I am trapped in an elevator and can’t kiss you. Of course you pick now to tell me that I’m allowed to.”

Grantaire blows him a kiss. “Can you settle for this for now?”

“Do I get the real thing when I get out?” Enjolras asks, but he’s smiling, soft and fond and _happy_ , and Grantaire has trouble remembering why he didn’t just say yes to Enjolras from the very beginning, why he let Enjolras go on for months smiling a smile that is a pale comparison to the one he’s spotting now.

He makes Enjolras happy, however ridiculous it sounds, and that should’ve been reason enough for him to say yes to anything Enjolras wants him to give. 

It doesn’t matter; he’ll spend forever making it up to Enjolras, starting now.

“Yes,” he says, quiet and happy. 

He doesn’t leave until the elevator repairman gets the elevator working again.

“I’m never taking the elevator again,” Enjolras says when he gets out, taking Grantaire’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tightly. 

“Okay,” Grantaire says. “You have permission to use my stairwell.”

Enjolras is smiling when he presses his lips to Grantaire’s.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here on tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


End file.
